Adrift
by crazycatlady713
Summary: Beneath a dark, roiling sky, the genius and the jokester convene at their leader's behest. There, they learn some valuable lessons; Donnie learns girls don't like jerks, Mikey learns the value of a strategically-placed "F" bomb, and both learn that honesty is always the best policy. (This fic is a companion piece to Tempestuous, and contains T-cest. Please avoid if you don't like.)


He hates when Donnie gets like this.

All sullen and broody, full of deep sighs and longing glances. The bo-wielder stares at the farmhouse, little more than a dimly lit speck amongst the dark line of trees, his eyes full of yearning and pain. He is like the captain of an imperiled schooner, keeping his gaze trained on the tantalizing glow of the lighthouse in the distance as his vessel goes under. Torturous thoughts drift like seaweed through his mind as he slowly sinks.

"April's all alone in there...with _Casey_," he semi-whispers, drawing his rival's name out like a bowstring.

"So you keep informing me," Mikey mumbles.

The jokester has been frantically rubbing these goddamn sticks together for ten minutes now, and can't understand why it's yet to yield even the tiniest spark. This kind of thing always works in cartoons, after all. With an aggrieved sigh and an eye roll so intense it nearly knocks the chocolate brown orbs from his head, Donnie snatches the tinder from him.

"If you insist on building a campfire without matches, at least do it right! Fire by friction causes the fuel to heat up until it reaches the combustion temperature and ignites, at around 800 degrees Fahrenheit," he explains, with as much patience as he can muster considering the circumstances. "You have to carve a notch half way in to the center of the depression from the edge, right here. Then place a piece of bark under the notch to collect the wood dust, which will accumulate and ignite with smoke..."

The rest of the explanation soars over Mikey's head, though he does watch intently as Donnie successfully manages to coax a tiny flame into existence.

"Sweet, D!" He gushes, slapping his sibling on the shell. "You're like, a total genius!"

"I do believe that God gave me a spark of genius, but He quenched it in misery," he says, his eyes returning to that enigmatic gleam.

"Speaking of ol' Eddie Allan," Mikey chimes in, with an exasperated eye roll of his own, "why don't we share some ghost stories?"

"...You're familiar with Poe's work?" Donnie responds, an eyeridge raised quizzically. "But there's not a single spandex-clad superhero or busty blonde bimbo to be had in his entire oeuvre! Your interest must be a result of my civilizing influence, to be sure."

Mikey wants nothing more than to slap that smug little smile off Donnie's face just then.

"Don't flatter yourself, dude," he says instead. "Just 'cause I don't talk about integers or positive ions or whatever, doesn't mean I'm dumb. There's lots of different intelligences, ya know."

"Uh-huh...and I was under the distinct impression you lacked all of them."

"I'm gonna take the high road here and ignore that jab at my character," Mikey replies, plopping onto the ground before the now roaring fire. "Like I was saying, since this is a camping trip and all, I think we should take part in the time-honored camping tradition of telling ghost stories!"

"This isn't a camping trip, Mikey. Leo, in his infinite wisdom, has decreed this an 'exercise in trust-building and bond-forming' or whatever."

"So what's the difference, bro?" Mikey says, rifling through his rucksack for marshmallows. "Isn't forming bonds of trust and friendship or whatever_ exactly _why humans go camping? I seriously doubt it's 'cause they love crapping in holes and sleeping on the ground so much."

"More pearls of wisdom from Mikey the all-knowing," Donnie mutters.

Mikey can almost hear the venom drip from his brother's words and chooses, once again, to ignore the barb hurled his way by his purple-clad sibling. He sets about roasting marshmallows, impaling one sugary cloud after another on the stick till the whole thing is almost completely enveloped in fluffy white goodness. Might as well try to make this night as enjoyable as possible, he thinks.

"So anyway," he says through a mouthful of the sweet stuff, "I got a _really_ scary one for you. Get ready for some good, old fashioned terror pukes, bro."

"Pssh. What makes it so scary?"

"'Cause it's true. April herself told me."

"...Go on," Donnie says, his interest now mildly piqued.

"Okay so like, it all started years ago, when April was a little kid," Mikey begins, settling against a fallen log with a fistful of marshmallows in each hand. "She said all these weird things used to happen right here at the farmhouse, and at first her dad didn't believe her, but then he like totally _had_ to 'cause things were just getting so bananas and stuff."

"Such as?" Donnie asks, taking a cautious nibble of a marshmallow.

"I'm getting there dude, be patient!" replies the raconteur. "Anyways, so like, it started out kinda mild, ya know? April would be playing with her little toy phone, pretending to talk to someone, and once in a while a voice would suddenly respond to her. She said she wasn't really scared at first, 'cause she was a little kid and just thought it was like magic or whatever. But then other stuff started happening, too. Like this one time, her and Kirby were in the kitchen and he turned around for like two seconds, and when he turned back around all the chairs were stacked up like a pyramid on the table!

"And there was this other time when she went downstairs to watch t.v. 'cause she couldn't sleep, but like every station was nothing but static. She thought she could hear something in there though, like _in_ the t.v. or something. The more she looked at the screen, the more she could make out what looked like a figure, saying something that sounded suspiciously like 'help.' Kirby came downstairs and must've seen what she saw, 'cause he totally freaked out.

"So yeah, he was so weirded out he went so far as to hire a bunch of psychics to come check out the house. The whole team experienced something weird while they were investigating, too. One dude said he looked into a mirror and saw his face like, melting like a candle or something. And this other guy said he opened up the door to April's room and saw all the toys floating around. The main psychic was this little short lady, and after doing some super-duper psychic stuff, she found out the entire property was built on like, Native American territory or something.

"Turns out the ghosts were still miffed at having been driven off their land back in the day and stuff, and were like, revenge haunting or whatever. So the psychic lady conducted this seance to try to convince them to leave the O'Neils alone. Apparently stuff got pretty twisted; Things were flying all around the room, April almost got sucked into a portal and the psychic lady almost died! It was totes intense. But apparently the seance worked, and the psychic lady declared the house clean. April says everything's been fine since."

The look of disdain on Donnie's leaf-green face portends of yet another tongue-lashing headed Mikey's way. He mentally braces himself for impact, practically wincing at the prospect of having the insult-laden scud missile fired at him.

"Mikey, you literally just described the entire plot of _Poltergeist_," the brainiac says finally. He looks beseechingly to the darkened skies with palms outstretched, as if wondering why the gods have burdened him with this imbecile. "You are _such_ a moron, I swear!"

"Well, I may have embellished just a tad," Mikey concedes with a shrug and a sly smile. "But it's mostly true. There really was a ghost, and the O'Neils really did have to hire a psychic to get rid of it. April told me!"

"Mikey, there is no such thing as ghosts. April was just teasing! It seems to be her favorite pastime," he adds bitterly.

"...You know something, Donnie?" Mikey says, his sky blue eyes narrowed to slits. "You're a bitch, you know that? A real fucking asshole."

Donnie's eyes go wide and his jaw drops open, a reaction Mikey feels is not the least bit unwarranted. He is as taken aback as Donnie by his own outburst; the epithets feel foreign on his tongue, strangers in a strange land. He envisions little personified cuss words consulting a map, confused looks on their faces. Shoulda taken that left turn at Albuquerque, Fuck says in a thick Brooklyn accent.

"What did you just say to me?"

"You heard me, dickhead!" He spits, leveling a marshmallow-flecked finger at him. Cussing actually feels pretty good, he decides. Cathartic, even. He suddenly realizes why it holds such a sway over Raphael. "You've done nothing but call me names and make fun of me the whole time we've been out here, and now you have the nerve to call April a tease just 'cause she doesn't wanna date you?

"Well guess what, asshole? Casey may be kinda dumb, and a little crazy, and it's kinda weird how he's only like, sixteen years old and he already needs dentures, but he at least respects her! Seriously dude, you're just a fedora and a blog away from becoming one of those douchebags who are always bitching on the internet about how girls won't date you 'cause you're supposedly too 'nice.' Maybe if you weren't such an arrogant prick she'd like you more."

Naught but the sounds of the crackling fire and the ominous hooting of an owl overhead can be heard, the two having fallen into a tense silence. Mikey sits with shoulders squared and chin jutting forward whilst Donnie takes a sudden, abiding interest in the dirt, tracing little concentric circles in it with his toes.

_Mic drop_, he thinks proudly.

Till he hears soft sniffling coming from the other side of the fire; Down goes his smug sense of self-satisfaction, sinking into his gut like the Queen Mary.

"Dude, listen," he says then, mollified. "April loves you, just...just not in the way you want her to. I mean, people feel what they feel, you know? You can't get mad at someone for not falling in love with you, and you sure can't force them to change their minds. Trust me, I know how you're feeling right now."

"Oh, please!" Donnie cries, his voice shrill, his eyes glistening with tears he tries valiantly to suppress. "How could_ you_ know how I feel right now? You knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing, mildly retarded troglodyte! This isn't like the time your favorite show was canceled or when the Harry Potter series ended, okay? You have literally no clue what it feels like to see the person you love head-over-heels for someone else, so stop pretending!"

"Of course you'd think that," Mikey replies, strangely subdued. "You really do think every one but you is stupid...me especially. You think I'm pretty much incapable of any kind of strong emotion, 'cause I'm just too simple-minded.

"Well, that's not true D, not by a long shot. I_ am_ in love with someone, someone who will never, ever love me back...not in the way I want them to, at least. So trust me, I do feel your pain, whether you want to acknowledge that or not. And I'm sorry for snapping at you, too."

"You're in love with someone, huh?" Donnie asks, wiping his eyes with the heel of his palm. "Is it April? Pssh, how very droll. Three guys, two of whom brothers, vie for the affections of one girl. Sounds like the set-up for one of those insipid romance movies you're always watching."

"...No," Mikey softly responds, holding his marshmallow-festooned stick over the fire. He watches the confections char, bubble, and slide off the stick in blackened, tarry gobbets before dropping the whole affair into the flames. He's suddenly not very hungry anymore. "It isn't April."

"Who then?" Donnie continues, the line of questioning undoubtedly distracting him from his own pain. "Karai?"

"God, no. I'm not _that_ crazy, dude."

"Is it...Casey?"

"No!" Mikey cries, his head in his hands.

And then, before he even realizes the words are coming out of his mouth, he speaks once more;

"It's you, Don. It's always been you. Ever since we were little kids."

Donnie is struck dumb by Mikey's words once again, an experience no more pleasant the second time than it was the first. His throat goes dry and he feels strangely lightheaded, the orange-clad terrapin's reveal having knocked all the air out of his chest. He feels like he's drowning, while Mikey looks like he's already died; He sits on the ground, lilting to one side, like he hasn't even the strength to pull himself upright. Like the force of his confession required all the energy he had and has left him wilted and empty, used up like an old tube of toothpaste.

"I...I must confess to being just a little bit skeptical as to whether or not the four of us were biologically related," Donnie says, having finally regained the power of speech. "But I would've at least thought the Westermarck effect would have set in by now."

"I don't know what that is," Mikey says, the flames dancing across his baby blues. "All I know is...that I've felt this way for a long time. Real long. I'm sorry, I...I never should've said anything. I didn't want to make things weird between us."

Donnie takes a deep breath and rises unsteadily to his feet, walks 'round the fire to where his sibling sits.

"Scoot over," he demands, sitting beside him against the log.

"...You're not gonna hit me?

"No, of course not!" Donnie replies, aghast. "It's okay Mikey, I'm not grossed out or whatever. Just curious, really. How did this happen?"

"I dunno, dude," Mikey responds, rubbing his arms as if trying to ward off the cold. "It's just...it was just _us_ for so long, you know? Raph and Leo always had each other, and that left you stuck with me, and it just...happened. You were always there for me. When I was upset, you were the one who comforted me, and when I was bored, you always came up with a new game or whatever to keep me entertained. Heh, remember that time you made a real, working helicopter outta Legos for me?"

"Haha, yeah!" Donnie says, his deep brown eyes wistful and faraway. "Remember that time Raph broke my bunson beaker and you tried to kick his ass in retaliation?"

"Heh, yeah. He beat me into the ground like a tent peg, though."

"We always did have a great rapport with one another," Donnie contributes.

"Yeah..." Mikey sadly chimes in. "And, um...what we have is more precious to me than anything in the world. I know you can't return my affections, and like, I've made peace with that fact a long time ago. I just hope we're still cool and all."

"Mikey," Donnie begins, inhaling sharply. The prankster has already traversed the minefield and detonated all the bombs...might as well let it out, he thinks. "What if I told you the reason I pursued April so aggressively is because...because I was trying to ignore a very uncomfortable truth about myself?"

"D-Donnie...?" Mikey looks to him, those azure eyes impossibly wide, as Donnie takes his hand. The marshmallows have left behind a sticky residue, whilst the pungent aroma of burning wood has penetrated into his skin. Donnie raises the hand to his lips, places the lightest of kisses upon each seafoam green digit, his lips merely ghosting across the warm flesh.

"What I mean to say is," he says so quietly Mikey strains to listen, "your affections aren't nearly as one-sided as you've come to believe."

An ear-splitting grin spreads across Mikey's face as he flings himself into Donnie's waiting arms, enveloping him in a fierce hug.

"We really do have a great rapport with each other," he whispers into Donnie's ear. "Don't we?"

"We do," Donnie responds, gently caressing Mikey's scutes. "I just wish I had the courage to say something sooner."

Their reverie is interrupted by a loud peal of thunder, spooking some woodland creatures who go darting into the woods. It sounds again, longer this time, like the deep, resonant growl of some eldritch beast, as they are pelted with fat drops of rain. Their fire is summarily doused as it picks up, rapid and unceasing, likewise soaking both boys to their very cores.

"We should probably seek shelter," Donnie says, the tails of his mask clinging to his thoroughly drenched skin.

"Don't worry...I got us covered."

Mikey retrieves something from the rucksack, quickly unfastens the ties holding it together. It blooms to its full size, revealing itself to be a pop-up tent adorned with images of various members of the Justice Force. He places it on the ground and takes Donnie's hand in his, leading him to the tent flaps.

"I haven't seen this thing since we were eight!" Donnie exclaims, as they crawl into the cramped quarters. Rain assails the roof and strong winds buffet the thin canvas, jostling the two as though they were aboard a dinghy in a turbulent ocean. The little tent however, stands firm. "I didn't even know you still had it. Damn, it's tight in here!"

"Hehe, that's what_ she_ said!" Mikey says with a laugh. "Seriously though, if you really want, we can just head back to the house."

"Nah," his beloved replies, embracing Mikey. "April and Casey deserve some alone time...As do we."

"I love camping!" Mikey pronounces, kissing him sweetly upon the beak.


End file.
